


What Becky Saw

by Tanista



Series: Domestic Adventures (aka Mac & Becky AU) [17]
Category: MacGyver (TV 1985), MacGyver (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Assassins & Hitmen, Beach House, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Adventures, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Minor Original Character(s), Mob hit, Original Character(s), Pacific ocean, Uncle-Niece Relationship, Unconventional Families, Witness Protection, oregon coast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-20 04:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4772798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanista/pseuds/Tanista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Becky accidentally witnesses a mob hit. Can MacGyver keep his niece safe from the assassins after her until she testifies?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Typical Morning (Early and Late)

**Author's Note:**

> The story was originally published in Jeanne Gold's fanzine MacGyverisms III in 1996 and also appeared on my personal website (ancient history in Internet time!). Recently my love for MacGyver has been rekindled, so I decided to dust off my fanfic and put it back on the Internet for others to hopefully enjoy as well. I have made some changes to mesh more with my later story Family Resemblance- as well as elements from the rest of my AU series- but this basically introduces the AU setting and the character of Rebecca Ellen (Becky) Grahme.
> 
> Feedback is welcome! I hope you enjoy!

\--August, 1988--

Downtown Los Angeles in the wee hours could be a very lonesome place. By that time the people who work in the local businesses- and patronize the eating places and watering holes who serve them- have returned to their respective homes for the night. The streets are therefore usually dark and quiet, save for a few hardy souls left to fend for themselves.

Arthur Farrelli- a short, balding man with a mustache- sat at his desk in the back office of the restaurant he managed, totaling the day's receipts and scribing the results in a ledger while the few employees who remained in the front of the house prepared for the next day's customers. He pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his forehead in the oppressive heat lingering in the small room and shifted nervously in his seat, staring over at the heavy black safe where his boss had stashed some very valuable items.

How the hell, he wondered, had he wound up not only working as front man for one of the most dangerous mobsters in the region but also as informant for the FBI? How long could he reasonably keep up a double life in this manner? Surely not for much longer; sooner or later he'd have to give notice to one or the other, empty his own stash of embezzled funds, and retire with his wife and kids someplace very far away- a private island in the South Pacific, perhaps- where neither his boss nor the feds could find them.

He mopped his brow again. Who was he kidding? He was trapped between the two and he knew it. There was no way easy way out of his predicament.

Farrelli reached in a desk drawer, pulling out a bottle of Scotch and a glass- not exactly a tall, cool tropical drink, but at least it would wet his whistle. He idly considered whether he should ask someone in the front to bring him ice.

Suddenly there was a scream from one of the waitresses outside, startling him enough so the alcohol sloshed out of the glass, then muffled yelling and sounds of a scuffle. The door burst open and two burly men in black, carrying guns and wearing ski masks- completely impractical in August, he thought fleetingly- entered the office. He reached for the .38 he kept in the center drawer but the taller of the two pointed his weapon at him.

"Get your hands away from there. No sudden moves, pal." The thief pulled a length of rope from his pocket and handed it to his partner. "Tie him up."

"What did you do to my people out there?" Farrelli asked as the shorter thief secured him to the back of his chair.

"They all split when they saw us comin'. Now what's the combination to the safe? Tell us or I'll blow your brains out."

Farrelli swallowed nervously. "You...you don't want to do this," he stammered. "You know who I work for? He does terrible things to those who steal from him. Believe me, it's brutal."

The shorter thief laughed. "Like we care. C'mon, the combination already." Shamefaced, Farrelli finally gave in, blurting out the numbers.

The taller thief spun the combination and opened the safe. "It's in here, just like the guy who hired us said. Along with a ton of other goodies."

"Great. Let's clean it out and get outta here."

Still tied up in his chair, he could only stare numbly as the masked thieves quickly emptied the contents of the safe and left the office. Fresh beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as he contemplated what the next day would bring when his boss's goons would come by around noon and demand the very items that had now been stolen.

Maybe that tropical island wasn't so bad an idea, after all.

He shook his head. Again, who was he kidding? No place in the would was safe from Gabriel Tarantino. Or the two creepy hitmen who worked for him.

Arthur Farrelli was as good as dead, and he knew it. His only regret was he wouldn't be able to say goodbye to his wife and kids.

* * * *

MacGyver wearily unlocked the door and almost dragged himself into the darkened apartment, dropping his leather travel bag in the entrance hallway with a sigh of relief. _Home sweet home, sweet home. At last._ He was back from yet another harrowing assignment- aiding U.N. inspectors in their investigation of a Soviet nuclear power plant- but now it was over and Pete had finally been able to grant him some much-needed time off.

 _Good thing, too, 'cause there had better not be anything he needs me to do until September, and the same goes for anyone else._ He had been very busy over the summer, and really wanted to spend some time with his niece before she went back to school.

He glanced up the stairs, then shook his head. _Nah. She's most likely asleep by now. Better not wake her by goin' to my room._ He turned on a light next to the couch in the living room, tossed his keys on the coffee table and quickly stripped off both jacket and shoes, dropping them unceremoniously on the carpet. He flopped down with a soft moan and reached for the remote, flipping through channels until landing on a black-and-white Western. _I don't know why I'm watching, though, since I'll probably be asleep myself soon anyway._ _God, I'm wasted. Crossed so many time zones I don't even really know what day it is._

Mac was just beginning to feel some of the weariness leave his body and his mind drowsily ease into sleep when the sound of a gunshot suddenly rang through the room. He slipped off the couch, yelping as his head hit the coffee table; rubbing the injured spot he looked up at the ceiling, frowning in concern. _So much for trying to be quiet._ But there appeared to be no sound from upstairs and he relaxed.

It was then that the action on the screen caught his attention; he smiled ruefully when he realized that was where the gunshot had originated. He returned to his prone position on the couch, stretching out his long legs as he picked up the remote. "You won't get away this time, varmit," he muttered as he pointed it at the TV. The picture on the screen died and he groaned, reaching to cover himself with a throw blanket before closing his eyes.

 _Oh man,_ MacGyver thought as blissful sleep finally pulled him under. _It's so good to be home. Can't wait to see Becky in the morning._

* * * *

Golden sunlight peeked through the blinds of the second-story bedroom, illuminating a sixteen-year-old girl sitting up in bed, yawning and rubbing sleep out of her eyes. _There's no better feeling in the world,_ Becky thought with a smile, _than to wake up in the morning and know you've got the whole day ahead of you in which to do absolutely nothing. Thank God it's still summer vacation._

She glanced over at the clock. _Almost nine o'clock._ _Might as well get up anyway; it's a fairly civilized hour, though anything earlier is decidedly barbaric. Can't see what Unc likes about getting up earlier. Me, I prefer to be a night owl rather than a morning person, no matter what he thinks about my habits._

Still somewhat reluctant despite her resolve, she got up, stretched and yawned loudly, then shuffled out of her room. Pausing by her uncle's bedroom, she noticed that the bed was still made and the note left on the bedside table remained unopened; obviously he hadn't returned last night like he had promised. She shrugged, being used to his intermittent absences over the past couple years, and continued towards the bathroom for a shower.

Afterwards she returned to her bedroom, pulling on clean underwear, tank top, and jeans then slipped on sandals. She washed and put on her glasses and brushed through her auburn hair to give it some life, regarding herself in the full-length mirror: petite frame and features that were a softer, slightly rounded version of her uncle's, though the eyes were clear, guileless blue and skin a pale, translucent complexion instead of Mac's deep brown eyes and golden tan. _Yep, it's still me all right. I look pretty much like I did when I first moved in with him two years ago. Talk about aging gracefully!_

Her reflection grinned wryly back at her, then frowned as her gaze rested on a picture of her family displayed next to the calendar: her father Michael, her mother Allison- Mac's older sister- and older brother Chris. _Hey- it's the tenth, isn't it? It really has been two years. Jeez, I really miss them._

Two years ago, Becky recalled, she had been spending a wonderful summer vacation with her uncle in L.A, since back home Mom had to teach a seminar at the university and Dad and Chris were working at a Boy Scout camp on the coast. She had been at the Foundation waiting for Mac one day- a week before she had to return home- when Pete told her of a phone call: there had been a fatal accident, involving her family's car and a logging truck on the road from the camp. The funeral for all three had been a week later. Mac had then come to her after the service to talk about her future, giving her two options: foster care or moving in with him and allowing him to be her legal guardian.

She was profoundly appreciative that he had allowed her the choice in the first place, despite the potential risks to her own life because of his occupation. To be honest she wouldn't have blamed him if he had decided to put her directly in foster care for her safety, but even back then he believed she was smart enough to make up her own mind. _Gotta admit it's been kinda weird and sometimes pretty dangerous over the past couple years, but if I had to do it all over again I'm sure I'd make the same choice._

Her gaze turned to another photo nearby, this one of the two of them taken during his surprise birthday party at the Foundation the previous year. Even with her uncle's unusual lifestyle and erratic schedule she and Mac- both solitary, independent people by nature- always found time to touch base with each other despite their busy schedules. It probably wasn't the most conventional family life out there, but what they had in some way actually seemed to work.

_So, yeah. Two years ago today I was orphaned and left almost all alone in the world, without friends to show they loved and cared for me..._

Becky abruptly shook her head. The thought was ridiculous. She wasn't alone in the world, and she knew it. MacGyver wasn't merely her uncle, he was also her best friend, protector and confidant, ever since she was a baby; he probably knew her better than she did herself, most times. Pete, Jack, Penny, and Nikki were her friends as well, along with Katie and others from school. There were people around who truly loved and cared for her, though sometimes she wondered if she really deserved such affection, or any kind of friendship for that matter.

She rolled her eyes at her reflection. _Jeez, girl. Get a grip, for crying out loud. Stop making mountains out of molehills, as Grandpa Harry would say._ She was as prone as her uncle to brooding over things that happened in the past, though they didn't really matter in the long run. Besides, Mac loved and adored her more than anyone else in the world- which was as much as she did him- and that had to be worth something. It was past time, she thought, to put her low self-esteem on the back burner and focus on matters at hand.

She took a few deep breaths and decided it was time to have breakfast.

Coming downstairs into the bottom half of their modest condo apartment she paused briefly, taking in the familiar surroundings. Two floors- three bedrooms, two bathrooms- were filled with comfortable furniture and an eclectic mix of souvenirs, books, and sports equipment, with some decorative and organizational touches of her own added here and there when she had time. _The one piece of stability we can truly rely on in this crazy world, thank God. Good thing it's still tidy; I want to impress Mac with my housekeeping skills, not to mention let him know just how much I'm spoiling him!_

Becky smiled wryly at the thought, then nearly jumped when a loud snore broke the silence. The strange noise eventually led her to the living room where a tall, lanky man sprawled unconscious on the couch, a throw blanket pushed down to his ankles and lamp on the side table still burning brightly. His head was turned to the side, facing her. _So Uncle Mac actually made it home last night, after all! Will wonders never cease._

Shaking her head she stepped over the discarded jacket and sneakers, turned off the light and crouched down carefully beside him, lovingly studying his ruggedly handsome features, relaxed with sleep. She reached over to lightly caress his cheek and stroke the longish, light-brown hair then moved even closer, kissing him softly on the cheek; he stirred but failed to wake, though she did notice that his lips curved up in a smile. "Glad you're home," she whispered finally, then rose and went to the kitchen to make her morning tea and have breakfast.

The phone rang as she was eating her cereal. "I got it, Unc," she murmured as Mac's eyes opened and he wearily raised himself to answer. "Go back to sleep."

She picked up the receiver. "Hello? Oh hi, Katie. What's up?....You're going to the mall today? Sure, I'll meet you there. Who else is coming?...Great, I wanted to talk to the gang anyway...Well, I've got this idea for a band, but I'll wait to tell you later, when we're all together...Sure thing. See you in a couple hours, Katie. 'Bye."

"Hey, Becky." She turned away from the phone to find MacGyver sitting up and looking at her with a sleepy half-smile.

"Hey, Uncle Mac. Good to see you."

"So you're goin' out today, huh?"

"Yeah. I'm just going to the mall with Katie and a few friends from school." She came over and sat beside him. "What time did you finally come back last night? I noticed you didn't make it to your bed, so it must've been really late."

"Not sure, really," he yawned, running a hand through his already tousled hair. "Must've been around two, maybe three or so. So how did it go? Peace and quiet, just the way you like it?"

"Quiet enough, except for the usual calls from Jack, asking for your help. I told him you were away, and wouldn't want to help anyway, even if you were home. But otherwise it's been pretty lonely," she replied, then added softly, "I missed you. A lot."

"Missed you too, Beck. C'mere." He kissed her and gathered her against him and she smiled, savoring the closeness; these intimate moments had become so brief and rare in their hectic lives lately, and she knew he treasured them as much as she did.

"So what was your great adventure this time, Unc? What death-defying feats did you perform?"

"Aw c'mon," he groaned, rolling his eyes. "Why do you think that every time I go away on assignment, something dangerous always happens to me?"

She looked up at him, raising a sardonic eyebrow. "I don't know. Because it does?"

He grimaced, then sighed in resignation. "You know me too well, I guess. It's a long story, but here goes. What started out as a routine investigation of a Soviet nuclear power plant became anything but when I discovered by accident there was a lot more going on than just producing energy. Turns out the workers were also stockpiling plutonium, selling it on the black market for anyone who wanted to make dirty bombs..."

She curled up against him, letting the warm, laid-back Midwestern drawl that she loved so much wash over her as he continued his story. Becky smiled to herself, content in the knowledge that the world was safe once more and- more importantly- her beloved uncle was home at last.


	2. One Wrong Turn

Becky smiled as she made her way through the lunchtime crowds in the city's busiest shopping district- bags in hand and feeling completely at peace with the world- on her way to meet her uncle in the park for a meal at a nearby restaurant. Katie and the others absolutely loved the band idea and were still chatting about it when she left, visions of instant stardom in their eyes.

They all knew how to perform- the others were also in the school's music programs and she herself was one of the choir's lead soloists, so at least their chances of being noticed were pretty okay. Realistically she knew it wouldn't be that easy, especially at their young age. Yet she couldn't help but feel optimistic at the same time, for at long last she knew she possessed a talent uniquely her own.

Since moving in with her uncle it often felt like she was living in his shadow, not surprising considering his formidable reputation as a man who could do anything, solve any problem. Many of his friends still thought of her as a smaller, female version instead of as a separate person, which was becoming frustrating. It was time, she thought, to finally step out of that shadow, to do something that would make people take notice. To make them see and approve of her for _herself_ , instead of as merely MacGyver's niece.

Or, even better, to make Mac himself take notice and truly be proud of her, and not just because she was family.

Suddenly a concrete wall loomed in front of her and she stepped back in surprise, regarding her new surroundings in confusion. It was a shadowed, dead end alley between two buildings, complete with overflowing dumpsters and a pair of homeless folk slouching in cardboard boxes, who stared back at her with dull, disinterested expressions.

 _Real smart, girl,_ she thought ruefully. _No wonder people call me clumsy at school if I don't pay attention. I need to keep my mind in the game, as Uncle Mac might say._

All of a sudden a side door opened and two men in dark suits and sunglasses came outside, dragging a shorter, balding man with a mustache struggling between them. The homeless people fled and she immediately ducked behind a dumpster, catching on the way a glimpse of the terrified look on his face as they threw him roughly against the wall.

"I swear, guys, I don't know what happened to the stuff! All I know is two guys in ski masks broke in the place last night, tied me up and cleaned out the safe. I don't have a clue where it is, honest!"

"Mr. Tarantino ain't gonna like hearing that, Mr. Farrelli," growled one of the two suited men, a burly fellow with short blond hair and a scarred face. "You promised you'd keep it safe until the cops and feds finish sniffing around his business, and you know what happens to employees who don't keep their promises." He grinned, displaying an impressive array of metal-capped teeth, looking remarkably like that guy in the old James Bond movies.

"Yeah, you know the boss doesn't believe in second chances," added his dark-haired, mustached partner. He gripped the collar of Farrelli's shirt with a steel claw at the end of his right arm instead of a hand. "So it looks like it's bye-bye for you." With his left hand he pulled out a gun with a silencer attached to the end.

Becky gasped very quietly, hoping they didn't hear. She couldn't believe this was happening; it seemed like it was a scene pulled straight from an action movie or cop show on TV. _They're actually going to kill the poor guy. Things like this don't occur in real life, do they? Surely not. Yet here it is, right in front of me._

"Let me go, please," Farrelli begged. "I'll do anything to make it up to the boss. C'mon guys, for the love of God! I got a wife and kids. What's gonna happen to them?"

Steel-teeth shrugged his indifference. "Not our business, man. Orders from the boss- we gotta make an example of you." He peered out the alley and nodded to Steel-hand. "Nobody's paying any attention. Do it."

Becky's eyes widened even more as Steel-hand pulled the trigger, Farrelli slumping to the ground in a pool of blood. "Oh, my God!"

The hitmen turned in her direction. Steel-teeth reached for his own gun and said, "Alright, who said that? Who's there?"

She froze, unsure what to do. Should she try to make a break for it and hope she could outrun them, or should she lie low and hope they won't find her? As young as she still was, Becky harbored no illusions about what they were likely to do if they discovered her. _I'd hate to leave Unc all alone, without anyone to take care of him. So think, girl- what would he do, to get out of this?_

A rat scooted out of a nearby pile of garbage at that moment, sniffing inquisitively at her legs. She cringed inwardly at the sight. _Jeez, I hate rats. Get outta here, you little creep!_ She tried to brush it away, but it just got more and more inquisitive as the hitmen steadily approached her hiding place. _Don't know what's worse, the rat or the two bad guys. Talk about between a rock and a hard place..._

Suddenly the rat darted forwards, climbing onto her legs and digging its little claws into her jeans. Becky shrieked and jumped up, pushing the creature away. "There she is," said Steel-hand, pointing at her with his claw. Guns cocked and ready, they advanced towards her, their purpose clear.

 _Oh God, I gotta get out of here._ In a surprising burst of speed she hurried between them; Steel-teeth managed to grab her arm on the way but a well-placed swing of her shopping bag- which was loaded with books- forced him to let go. Dodging bullets on her way out, Becky dashed out the alley and around the corner, the two hitmen soon following after.

* * * *

MacGyver looked up from the magazine he was reading and checked the time; Becky was half an hour late. He knew sometimes she got easily distracted on the way, as a result of her overly curious nature- which he wryly admitted to himself definitely ran in the family- and almost always arrived a few minutes late. But this was a first for her and he was beginning to get worried. "Where are you, Beck?" he muttered under his breath. "What's taking you so long?"

It wasn't as though he was uncomfortable waiting for her, though. The day was bright and the sun warmed him as he sat on the park bench, reading and sipping a ginger ale. _At least I'm not cold, wet and miserable like in Russia a few days ago,_ he thought, _waiting for the guards to pass by the storm drain I'd been hiding in, hoping to escape undetected..._

"Unc, help!" The screech shocked Mac out of the memory and he looked behind him, eyes widening in surprise as he saw his niece running for her life in his direction with two dark-suited men following, hot on her heels. Ignoring both magazine and drink, he jumped up and ran over to her, grabbing at a fallen branch along the way.

One of the men suddenly sprang and grabbed Becky by a leg; she screamed in pain and tried to pull herself away, but he had a tight grip. His accomplice gave a nasty grin- displaying a truly fearsome set of metal-capped teeth- and aimed his gun straight for her head, but Mac's branch knocked it out of his hand before he could pull the trigger. Steel-teeth yelled and turned towards his attacker, grabbing and pulling away the makeshift weapon from her uncle's grasp. The hitman charged at him, but Mac stepped sideways and tripped him, knocking him out as soon as his head hit the ground.

In the meantime Becky had managed to pull at least somewhat out of the other man's grip but he still hung on tight, even managing to begin pulling her towards him. She clutched wildly at the grass, exposed tree roots, anything that might help her to get away from her assailant, but with little success. She cried out as the cold, sharp touch of the metal claw scratched her bare arm. His hold on her was, thankfully, released when Mac knocked him unconscious in turn with the discarded shopping bag full of books.

After making sure the two attackers were still unconscious, MacGyver turned his attention towards his niece, who was still on the ground, sitting and staring wide-eyed with fear at the hitman with the metal claw. Her glasses were askew, all the color had drained from her face, and she was trembling slightly from shock.

He reached over and carefully touched her on the cheek. "Becky? You okay, sweetheart?"

She startled, seeing him with wide blue eyes as if for the first time. "Uncle Mac?" she asked in a small voice. "Is it really you?"

"Yeah, it's me. Don't worry, everything's all right now. They can't hurt you anymore." He held her close against him for a short while, then helped her to her feet. "Let's get out of here, okay?"

When they were safely in the jeep, he turned to her. "So what was that all about, Beck? Why were they after you?"

Huddled in her seat, she glanced at him then folded her arms and quickly turned away, looking for all the world like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. "Oh Unc, I saw something _terrible_. You sure you want to know?"

"Yeah, I do. People don't run after you for the heck of it, after all. Me maybe, but not you."

She smiled faintly. "That's true."

"So c'mon, tell me. What happened?"

She did, and Mac found his own eyes widening. He quickly reached for the key and started the ignition.

"Where are we going, Unc? To the police?"

"Nope, the Foundation. We gotta tell Pete about this. Trust me Becky, what you saw is more important than you realize."


	3. The Witness

Pete Thornton watched MacGyver shift uncomfortably in his chair as FBI Special Agent Martin Frye- a tall African-American with a deep baritone voice- soberly outlined the criminal empire of one Gabriel Tarantino, a rising mob boss in Southern California. Every brutal action described made both men increasingly fear for Becky's life, and he wondered if Mac would honestly be willing to allow strangers- even trained federal agents- to keep her safe while a guy that nasty was still out on the streets.

Two hours ago he had been shuffling through random files when his friend had unexpectedly appeared with his niece in tow, both looking the worse for wear. "Hey, Pete. Good to see you."

"It's good to see you too Mac, but I thought I gave you the day off. Why is Becky with you? What happened to you two?"

"Remember that Tarantino file we were lookin' at last week, before I had to go to Russia?" He nodded. "She ran into a bit of trouble related to that today. Figured you'd want to hear this."

"What is it?"

Mac placed his hands on her shoulders, gently rubbing them in encouragement. "You're up, Beck. Just tell Pete what you told me."

She opened her mouth to speak then hesitated. "Unc, I'm not sure about this. I doubt he'll believe me."

"You don't know that. C'mon, give him a chance."

She frowned but Pete smiled reassuringly. "He's right, Becky. I promise I won't laugh if that's what you're afraid of. Go ahead."

The teenager took a deep breath and described her recent encounter with the hitmen. The news was enough to make him stand up in shock. "Incredible," he murmured. "Mac, do you know what this means?"

He nodded. "We'd better call that FBI agent who's in charge of the case. This could bust it wide open."

"No doubt about it. We need to make this official." Pete picked up the phone. "Helen? Get me the local FBI field office. Ask for Agent Frye."

"What Miss Grahme saw," the agent said, bringing his attention back to the present, "could very well become an important piece of evidence in our case against him. Based on her statement, Arthur Farrelli had been holding something sensitive for Tarantino that he didn't want the Bureau to find during our initial investigation."

"I don't understand," said Pete. "Why is Becky's account of the hit so important to you?"

"Farrelli was one of Tarantino's key employees," Frye explained. "He handled a lot more than just holding sensitive items for him. Smuggling operations, money laundering, drug trafficking- you name it, Tarantino masterminded it and Farrelli handled the actual dirty work. More importantly, he was also one of our key informants. He was about to turn the item over to us, but- according to what Miss Grahme overheard- it was stolen by someone else, perhaps a business rival who knew of its importance. That loss obviously angered Tarantino enough to order the hit, although we're not sure if he was aware of Farrelli's connection to us and wanted him killed for that, too."

The agent consulted a sheaf of papers. "She can not only point out Tarantino's connection to the murder, but can also implicate two of the most dangerous assassins in the business." He handed Mac and Pete photographs of two men in dark suits. "The man with the metal-capped teeth is Steven Copeland, and the one with the claw prosthesis is Ray Seelsmith. They're among the elite of their profession, and they pride themselves on being quick, efficient, and discreet. They'll see Becky's accidental presence at Farrelli's hit as a glaring blot on their otherwise perfect record, and won't hesitate in using any means possible to clear it off. They'll be doubly motivated in trying to kill her now."

"Good lord," exclaimed Pete. "You mean Tarantino's that ruthless? He's going to unleash those two after her to kill her, instead of using other means to shut her up? He's _that_ afraid of her testimony?"

"And besides," Mac added, "wouldn't he think that because Becky's so young, she'd be easy to scare off with threats or bribes?"

"Unfortunately he wouldn't, Mr. MacGyver. We have records of car bombings and assassinations, all orchestrated by this man. Dozens of people that might otherwise would've gladly revealed everything to us were killed, including their family members," Frye replied. He leaned forward intently. "Now you see why her testimony is so important to our case. With your niece's help we can put all three away for good."

"When's the trial?" asked Pete.

"In about two weeks. We can keep her in a safe house until then, and afterwards put her in the relocation program if necessary. With luck and the three behind bars, however, there should be nobody else after her, so she could still live a normal life after the trial." Frye looked askance at Mac. "You're her legal guardian, though, and Mr. Thornton says you've done this sort of thing before for other witnesses. She'll probably feel a lot more comfortable with you than with total strangers, anyway, and besides," he added dryly, "it'd save the taxpayers a lot of money if we didn't add any more agents to the large number working on the case already. Do you think you could keep her safe until she testifies?"

"Of course I can," Mac replied. "I know I'd feel a lot better if I were able to keep a close eye on her, to make sure nothing goes wrong between now and then. I already have someplace safe in mind to keep her; I just have to make a couple phone calls to arrange it. But shouldn't we be talking about this with Becky?" He smiled wryly. "She's lived with me long enough now to figure out how often this sort of thing tends to happen in my line of work, anyway, so it'd probably be nothing new. I've always been honest with her about what I do for a living."

At that moment the door opened and Becky walked in the office, accompanied by an Asian woman- Dr. Annalise Chen, a member of the medical staff. With concern Pete noticed the tension around her eyes and lips and the white knuckles of her hands as she clutched her purse and shopping bag. As Mac said she was well aware of the implications of what he did for the Foundation, but this was on a different level entirely and Pete wondered how she was coping.

MacGyver stood up and led her over to a couch, a hand resting lightly on her shoulder. "Feelin' better, Beck?"

She nodded in reply. "Sorry for collapsing like that, after I gave my statement." A faint flush touched her cheeks. "How embarrassing. I don't know what came over me."

"Hey, it's no problem. You were just a bit overwhelmed from the stress, that's all. Nothing to be ashamed about. We understand." On impulse he reached down to kiss her forehead. "It's okay, sweetheart," he murmured. "I'm here."

"She's just fine," the doctor said. "Some minor cuts and bruises, as well as some minor shock symptoms, but otherwise all right." She smiled. "Tough, too. Your niece seems pretty resilient."

"It runs in our family," he noted dryly. "Thanks, Dr. Chen." Mac turned his attention back to his niece. "Becky, we have something important to ask you. The guy who ordered the hit, Tarantino, goes on trial in two weeks. Agent Frye thinks your testimony's very important to the case; it could even help put him away for a long time. The two hitmen you saw could also go to jail, because of your story."

"Before you decide, Miss Grahme," Frye cut in, "there's something you should know. Tarantino is a very dangerous man, and he'll do everything in his power to see that you don't testify, including trying to kill you. That being said, your uncle thinks you should- and so do Mr. Thornton and I- but it's actually up to you. The trial is scheduled to take place in two weeks, and if you're willing you'll need to be in protective custody. The Bureau can provide a safe house and agents for the duration, but your uncle has agreed to take care of it himself instead, and I think it's a good idea."

"I see." Pete saw a faint line appear between Becky's brows as she carefully considered their words. He knew she was smart and mature enough to understand what was going on- as well as the amount of risk involved if she agreed- but he still wondered what her decision would be. After several moments she finally looked at the others, determinedly raising her chin. "I'll do it- I'll testify against Tarantino and those two other guys."

Frye nodded in satisfaction. "Excellent. Thank you. Mr. Thornton and I will contact the federal prosecutor in charge of the investigation and make arrangements for your testimony and appearance at the trial."

"And while that's going on," Mac added, "you and I are gonna go home and pack for a little trip."

"Where are we going?"

"Sorry Beck, that's a secret. But I promise you'll love it."

Pete caught the wink his friend gave him and nodded, picking up the phone to call the U.S. Attorney's office. He already had an idea which safe house would be perfect for her- it was a long distance away up the coast, but the location might help her to relax before the trial. And knowing his friend's devotion to his niece, she would definitely be protected and cared for every step of the way.

* * * *

It was early evening when they finally left the Foundation, stopping at Fong Loo's to pick up dinner before heading home. They had just left the restaurant carrying their takeout bags when MacGyver heard the bullet whizzing overhead, though not the actual gunshot. He immediately dropped his bag and pulled Becky down to the sidewalk, shielding her from the next shot which slammed into the wall a few feet behind them. A chill crept along his spine. He waited, listening for further attacks but heard none.

"Unc, what's going on?" she whispered frantically.

"Don't know," he murmured. "I'll go check it out. Stay here and keep down." She began to speak, but he placed a finger against her lips. "And stay quiet. Be back soon as I can." Swallowing hard, she nodded. He smiled, gave a gentle caress to her cheek and left her side.

Crouching against a parked car Mac surveyed the street, where the shots appeared to have originated. Staying in the shadows he scanned the area around him closely, but so far found no other sign of the hitmen. With a whispered curse he crept further out toward the sidewalk when he heard an engine roar. He dashed out to the street hoping for a glimpse of the car, but as it sped off all he could tell was that maybe it was some sort of sedan; the fading daylight was already too dim to make out any other details.

He straightened cautiously- just in case the shooter wasn't in the car- but heard no other sound. Shaking his heard he turned around and headed back to the restaurant, his mind in a whirl. Had they been followed the whole way back from the Foundation? How did Tarantino find out about Becky in the first place? Was there a mole reporting to him in the FBI?

 _I gotta call Pete about this as soon as we get back to the apartment,_ he thought, _then get us on the road north to the safe house first thing in the morning in the rental car he's providing. Hope I don't regret not taking Agent Frye up on his offer of extra protection between now and the trial._

He arrived back to the jeep but she wasn't there. "Becky? Where are you?"

"Here, Uncle Mac." She stepped out from inside a doorway, eyes wide behind her glasses and breathing heavily as she approached him.

"You okay?" He examined her in the building's outdoor light, hands gently cupping her face. She was pale but otherwise unhurt, though he noticed a faint tremble running through her body.

"I'm fine, a bit shaken up maybe but that's all. Did you see who shot at us?"

"Nah. Couldn't make anything out. Too dark outside."

Her eyes darted fearfully to the street. "You think it was Tarantino's hitmen? Are they after me already? How did they find out so soon?" She leaned against him, pressing her face against the soft leather of his jacket as she began to quietly sob. "I'm scared, Unc."

Mac wrapped his arms around her. "I know, Beck. Take it easy. I've got you. It's gonna be all right," he soothed, lightly rubbing her back. He could feel both their hearts still pounding from the adrenaline rush and took a deep breath, willing himself to relax; after a moment he felt her imitate his steady breathing, gathering strength from him.

Finally he pulled away. "Why don't we go back into the restaurant? Mr. Lee's probably called the cops. We gotta give our statements anyway, so might as well wait inside."

"Good idea, Unc." Becky's stomach grumbled and she looked up at him with a sheepish smile. "And maybe we should eat something in the meantime. I guess we'll have to pay for another meal, though, because our dinner's now on the sidewalk feeding the pigeons."

MacGyver chuckled. He tilted her chin up toward him and kissed her affectionately on the tip of the nose. "Now I know you're okay. Let's get somethin' to eat." With his arm around her shoulders he led his niece back inside the building.

* * * *

A nondescript gray sedan sat against the curb early the next morning, its two occupants watching the activity across the street. "They're supposed to be leaving today, right?" Copeland asked from the driver's seat.

"Yeah," Seelsmith replied. "We're supposed to call the boss once they get going."

Presently they observed a tall man- in jeans, leather jacket and spiky light brown hair- stepping out of the apartment, carrying a suitcase in each hand. A petite teenage girl- wearing jeans and denim jacket with glasses and auburn hair in a ponytail- followed with a pair of travel bags. She handed them to him and he placed the luggage in the trunk of a blue rental car, slamming the lid shut; he slipped on sunglasses and climbed in the driver's seat while she walked back to the open door, closing and locking it before joining him. The tall man said something to the petite girl before starting the car, making her laugh.

Seelsmith opened the door and stepped outside as the other car drove away, waking over to a nearby phone booth and dialing a number. "Tell Mr. Tarantino they're leaving," he said into the phone. "What do we do now?"

After a brief conversation the assassin hung up and joined his partner in the car. "Good thing we placed that tracking device on the car before they came outside," he noted, pulling out a receiver from inside his jacket.

"What did the boss say?" Copeland asked.

"Follow them, then set ourselves up for observation wherever they wind up. That guy's bound to leave her alone at some point; when the time's right we'll grab the kid and finish the job. Let's go."


	4. Fog and Family Memories

Dense fog shrouded Highway 101 a few miles north of Eureka the following day, weakened only slightly here and there by the bright lights of passing vehicles. What traffic remained out on the road was forced to move along fairly cautiously, since visibility was limited to no more than twenty feet ahead.

MacGyver heard a soft moan and glanced at the mirror mounted on the windshield, seeing Becky's reflection as she slowly sat up in the back seat of the rental car. She blinked sleepily at the view outside, then yawned and stretched her arms. "What's all this? Where are we?"

"It's fog," he replied. "Worst I've seen up here in a long time." He consulted the passing road signs. "We're still a couple hours from the Oregon border. Have a nice nap?"

"Oregon? You mean we're going back to Salem? Back...to my old home?" She looked rather uncomfortable with the idea.

"No, Becky. Not back to Salem. Guy I know has a beach house between Depoe Bay and Lincoln City. Salishan, I think is where he's got it."

"Wow," she remarked. "That's pretty exclusive property there. Very upscale. We've passed by the resort all the time on our way to Newport. Your friend must be pretty high up in the Foundation to afford to keep a place there."

"Well, he's on the Board of Directors, and golfing buddies with Pete," Mac admitted. "The house has been used for this sort of thing before. For any other witnesses I'd be taking them to Pete's cabin in the mountains, but I knew you'd prefer waitin' for the trial in comfort by the ocean instead. Anything for my princess." He grinned and winked at her blushing reflection. "How are you feeling, by the way? That motion-sickness patch surely must be working by now."

"Yeah, all I feel is drowsy. It's funny, you know? I don't remember getting motion sick when I was younger, but recently it's gotten worse, especially during really long car rides."

"Or in planes, for that matter." Mac chuckled. "Hey, remember when Jack took you up as his birthday present to you last year?"

"God, do I ever. That was _terrible,_ especially when we hit that bit of turbulence. I wasn't able to ride even in the jeep for a couple hours after that, at the very least. My head couldn't stop spinning. Not to mention my stomach. Good thing you were there to serve as my pillow."

"Anytime, Beck," he laughed. "Jack said it cost him a bundle to get the interior of his plane cleaned up. Not that he's mad at you, but he did say once he couldn't see how we could be related, what with your sensitive stomach and all."

"Well, how was I to know? It was my first ride in a plane, after all," Becky noted ruefully. There was a companionable silence for a few minutes. "Remember when Pete and the others first met me, a couple years ago?"

He nodded. "Yeah. For a while they kinda thought of you as my shadow, or at least a smaller, female version. Not that I ever saw you that way myself, though."

"I couldn't see it, either. And as it turns out I'm sort of your opposite anyway, what with my motion-sickness, allergies, short height, and glasses. We're mirror images of each other, you know? Does that bother you?"

"Not at all. But I think it's more than that. Not complete opposites, though; more like different yet complimentary at the same time. You learned about the left brain and right brain in health class last year, right? Allison always thought you and I are like that in a lot of ways, and over the past couple years I've come to realize it's true. I'm not offended if we don't like the same things, not in the least. I want you to be happy, and follow your heart in all things, Becky. You know I love you no matter what."

"I know, Unc," she sleepily replied. "Mom and Dad always said stuff like that, too. I miss them..."

Her voice trailed off and Mac risked a look behind him; she was fast asleep once again, a travel pillow between her and the window and his leather jacket covering her. He smiled at the way she held a sleeve close to her cheek, like a little kid with a security blanket. "Me too, sweetheart," he murmured with a sigh, then turned his full attention to the traffic outside.

Several cars behind, a gray sedan leisurely followed their progress north on the fog-bound highway.

* * * *

It was around four a.m. when MacGyver finally pulled into the driveway of a contemporary-style beach house, two stories with sloping angles and covered in weathered gray shingles nestled among windswept shore pines. He parked the car and yawned. "Hey Becky, wake up. We're here."

There was no reply so he tried again, a little louder than before. Then he reached behind him, shaking her gently; she didn't react to that either. _Ah, well,_ he thought ruefully as he watched the steady, slow rise and fall of her chest. _Your mom always said you could sleep pretty deeply. Nothing short of an earthquake can wake you when you're that far under, and the ones we've had recently at home couldn't even do that, come to think of it._

Mac got out of the car, stretched, then got the luggage out of the trunk- he reckoned they would go to the nearby store for groceries later in the day- and carried them inside the house. When he returned, he smiled warmly at how sweet and vulnerable she looked asleep then reached inside, scooping her slight form carefully into his arms. "Let's get you to bed, huh?"

As if in response, Becky smiled in her sleep, then reached out to hold him around the neck. He carried her inside- somehow managing to firmly shut the door behind him with a leg- and up the stairs. Once inside one of the guest rooms he set her down on the bed and tried to carefully remove himself from her embrace, but couldn't seem to get her to let go. Eventually Mac gave up and fell fast asleep himself, lulled by both the rhythmic sound of the ocean outside and her peaceful breathing.

* * * *

Becky awoke hours later to the roaring of the surf and the sun streaming through the southern windows into her eyes, momentarily confused by the unfamiliar surroundings. She stared at the blue-and-white patterned quilt covering her still fully-clothed body, the pine-trimmed furnishings, and the cheerful, ocean-themed watercolors on the walls until she regained full consciousness, then got up and stretched. She noted the time on the bedside clock- well past noon- then walked over and threw back the curtains covering a set of glass doors leading out to a deck. The ocean view that greeted her was nothing less than spectacular.

She smiled broadly. Visiting the coast was one of her most favorite activities and MacGyver knew it. She began to think that staying isolated for the next two weeks in such a comfortable location- with his exclusive company as an added bonus- was far better than whatever the FBI might have provided.

Or Pete's cabin in the mountains, for that matter.

After a change of clothes and a stop in the bathroom to refresh herself, Becky walked downstairs into what seemed to be the main part of the house. The distinctive smell of bacon led her into the kitchen, where she found MacGyver dressed in jeans and flannel shirt unbuttoned over a t-shirt, expertly flipping pancakes like he did at home. The sight was so familiar and comforting that she lost the last bit of worry and apprehension she had about the enforced seclusion and began to relax.

She went over to her uncle and hugged him from behind. "Good morning, Uncle Mac," she said.

He set the spatula down, turning around to affectionately return the embrace. "And good morning to you too, Niece Becky. Or rather, afternoon." He nodded at the display on the clock, smirking. "Think you got enough sleep?"

"I guess so," she yawned. "What's cooking? That's not bacon, is it? Haven't smelled that for a long time, at least not since you've practically become a vegetarian."

"Yeah, it's bacon, just for you. With blueberry whole-wheat pancakes, along with that Chinese tea you like so much. Now go and sit at the table," he added. "It'll all be ready in a minute."

"Oh, Unc, you spoil me so," Becky teased as she complied. "My favorite foods and everything. Whatever could be next; maybe the keys to the jeep, perhaps?"

"Well, what else are uncles for, if not to spoil their dear nieces every once in a while? They don't seem to be good for much else, really," he replied with an exaggerated wink, making her laugh. He set a full plate in front of her, then poured a cup of tea for both of them. "Think you can eat all that?"

"God, yes. I'm positively starving." She devoured the breakfast as MacGyver looked on with a smile, obviously bemused by her teenage appetite. After consuming a second helping of everything, she finally leaned back and asked, "So, we're here. We've got two weeks. Now what do we do?"

He tipped his head to the side, raising both eyebrows. "How about we finish getting unpacked, for starters, then a trip to the nearby market and a walk on the beach?"

* * * *

Becky leaned against the railing of the deck later that same evening, watching the last reddish rays of the sunset linger, dusky purple twilight deepening into dense black night with only the persistent roaring sound a reminder of the ocean's presence. The chill wind picked up and she thought about heading inside, but was reluctant to allow the tranquility to end.

The day had been perfect, warm and sunny with only a minimal amount of wind. They walked together along the water's edge then spread a blanket out and enjoyed a picnic lunch; afterwards they lounged against a log of driftwood, talking and reading with only seagulls and the occasional passers-by for company.

Eventually they rose and walked some more along the shoreline, heading towards the rocky cliff face that bounded one edge of the beach. The surf was pretty far out at that point, so Mac suggested they examine the nearby tide pools; she readily agreed, and they had a good time climbing along the rocks and investigating the various creatures that occupied such an unusual evolutionary niche. As the sun began to set they picked up the picnic basket and blanket from where they had left them and headed back inside the house.

Tilting her head back Becky watched the first stars twinkle into existence. Unbidden a rhyme her mother once said came into her mind.

"Star light, star bright.

First star I see tonight.

Wish I may, wish I might-"

"Grant the wish I wish tonight." She turned to see her uncle, tall and lean, standing in the doorway, smiling at her. "Your Grandma Ellen taught that to Allison and me a long time ago. I hope all your wishes come true, Becky," he added softly. "I really do."

She looked up as he joined her, blushing slightly. "I hope yours do as well, Uncle Mac." He wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head; she nestled against the warmth of his body, feeling as always so protected and loved in his embrace, her one safe harbor in a chaotic and dangerous world. She knew Mac could be dangerous himself if he had a mind to it but around her he was gentle, kind and encouraging, and had been for as long as she could recall.

"It's beautiful, isn't it," Becky commented. "The coast is my favorite place in the world to visit. It's so invigorating yet calming at the same time. Even thinking about it when I'm busy during the day really helps me to relax. I feel so much more emotionally balanced looking at it, I guess."

"Know what you mean," MacGyver replied, smiling down at her. "I feel the same way myself."

"I wanted to come to the coast all the time as a kid, and never understood why we couldn't have a place of our own here." She smiled. "Hey, remember that beach house we all stayed at for a week one August, when I was six?"

"Sure do. At Nye Beach. Just a little ways north of here, in fact."

"Not far from the house was this perfect stretch of sand, running flat all the way down to the water. There was one gorgeous, golden-lit afternoon when Chris and I ran in circles along that beach, our towels streaming behind us, like they were superheroes' capes or wings, or something similar."

"Yeah, you guys were havin' so much fun. Your mom even took pictures; we probably still got those in one of the photo albums back home."

"Suddenly Chris shot far ahead, leaving me struggling to keep up. I remember feeling tears in my eyes, then you lifting me to sit on your shoulders and running to catch up with him. Felt like I was flying for real. From that moment on I knew you'd be there when I needed you most."

"Couldn't stand to see you cry, Beck." Mac smiled at the memory. "And yeah, it's true. I'll always do my best to be there for you when you need me."

"Me too, Unc." They watched the moon rise over the water, and she felt contentment wash over her as silvery light rippled across the waves. "Thanks," she said finally after a long, companionable silence.

"For what?"

"For bringing me up here so I could spend these weeks together with you, instead of federal agents with guns. This was just what I needed to relax before facing Tarantino at the trial." She shivered and his arms tightened around her in response.

"Cold?"

"A little scared. You know. The guy sounds truly nasty, from what Agent Frye said about him."

"Yeah."

She turned in his embrace, looking up into his velvet brown eyes. "Do you think I'm doing the right thing, risking my life like this just to bring him and the hitmen to justice?"

"You are, Becky. Never doubt it for a second. This is one of the bravest things I've ever seen you do. I'm proud of you." He tenderly cupped her face in his hands, thumbs caressing her cheeks lightly in reassurance. "You'll do fine when the time comes to testify. Trust me. I've never steered you wrong before, have I?"

"No, you haven't." She took one of his hands in her smaller one, kissing it. "Thanks as well for the past two years- for taking care of me, being my guardian. I honestly don't think I could do it without you."

"My pleasure, sweetheart. But it's not over yet. You've got two more years to go before you turn eighteen, after all. Still a lot of time for us to get into mischief together." He winked and she felt the corner of her mouth turn up in a wry smile. "Now c'mon back inside. There's hot chocolate waiting, and I've got the board set up for checkers. Bet you this week's dishwashing chores I can beat you at least five times."

"Don't think that's gonna happen, Unc. You'd be surprised what I picked up from Harry. He taught me lots of tricks. Hope you enjoy having dishpan hands for the rest of the week!"

Mac joined in her laughter as they stepped inside to firelight and warmth.

* * * *

Copeland left the hotel in Lincoln City several days later and walked across the highway to the coffee shop; Seelsmith had the morning shift watching the beach house so he was free to meet their contact. This was the longest time he and his partner had ever spent on surveillance and they were both chafing from the enforced idleness, since they were used to action and getting the job done.

He slid into a booth by the counter next to a tall, dark-haired man, his expensive suit standing out from the flannel shirts and jeans of the coffee shop's regular customers- no doubt one of Tarantino's lawyer cronies. The assassins, for their part, wore the casual clothes more common to the area in order to blend in.

"Why are you here?" Copeland demanded after ordering breakfast from a waitress.

The man sipped at his coffee. "Tarantino wants a progress report. Are you any closer to getting the kid yet?"

Copeland snorted. "Not really. So far they're doing everything together- walks on the beach, day trips to see lighthouses, browsing in the gift stores, that sort of thing. When it's raining they stay inside the house reading. Then in the evenings they watch TV or play checkers. Those two are tight. Don't see how anything's gonna separate them before they go back to L.A. for the trial."

"Keep watching. Sooner or later he's gonna slip and leave her alone. Bound to happen, now that you've got them lulled into a false sense of security."

"Yeah, yeah. Then we get to break in and do our job. Gotta admit Ray and I will sleep better once that little pest is taken care of. This weather's been getting on my nerves, anyway. Fog and rain, even in the middle of August. Unnatural, I tell you."

The lawyer nodded as the waitress brought Copeland his plate and refilled their coffees. "Your time will come, don't worry. Tarantino will pay you both handsomely once it's done and the trial's been derailed. The feds don't have a leg to stand on if you keep her from testifying."

"Yeah, got it. Looking forward to payday." The assassin dug into his eggs.


	5. Night Terrors

_"Run fast, run far away," said the voices around her. "Don't let anyone catch you, don't let anyone hurt you-_ _**not ever again!** _ _Run far away from here, to someplace safe, where no one can can laugh at you, make you feel like the worthless girl you know you are! Run, run,_ _**run**_ _!"_

_Her rags flapped in the chilling wind as she ran down the rain-soaked streets and darkened alleyways, feet bleeding vividly as she sped across the pavement, scratching them on sharp stones and broken glass. Every bone, every muscle in her body ached but she couldn't stop running, ignoring everything in favor of the only instinct she could trust anymore, the one that demanded she run away. For her there was no definite goal, no real place she was going to; there was only the running, and that was all that mattered._

_Finally she stopped, though not of her own volition. Before her towered a massive figure, cloaked from head to toe in thick, dark fabric. Indeed, the only color she could perceive was the dangerous red glint from what she thought were its eyes, looking down at her. She could feel the penetrating heat of its gaze pierce her to her very soul- that is, if she actually had a soul; she seriously felt herself quite unworthy to possess one._

_"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" it said in a deep, syrupy voice. "Looks like a poor, orphaned girl, running away from home. Poor thing, are you lonely? I have some friends here that would just **love** to keep you company." The figure opened its cloak, spreading the folds wide._

_Three of the most hideous, disgusting creatures she'd ever seen, with beady eyes and long whiskers, stuck their heads out and leered at her. Screaming, she fled down the streets, trying unsuccessfully to put the horrible sight out of her mind with the action of running. At what seemed like every turn she met variations of the same thing, each version more gruesome than the last. Finally they surrounded her and attacked, laying their awful steel claws and teeth upon her body..._

_* * * *_

MacGyver heard the screaming and went from sleep to full awareness with a painful jolt. As another scream tore through the night he shoved the covers aside, jumped out of bed and made his way down the hall, pushing open the door to his niece's bedroom and turning on the light. Quietly approaching the bed he saw her tangled in the sheets, tossing and turning in her agitation.

He winced as she cried out yet again, and carefully eased himself onto the edge of the bed, trying not to scare her as he reached to gently shake her awake. "Becky, wake up. C'mon, it's just a dream. It's all right now- no one's gonna hurt you."

Suddenly she sat up with a jerk, chest heaving. Her eyes- a blue that reminded him of a clear winter sky in Minnesota- darted around the room, then fixed directly on him with terror in her gaze. She quickly backed away until she found herself up against the headboard. "Go...go away," she gasped. "Please don't hurt me. Gotta run. _Go away!_ "

"Hey, take it easy. I'm not gonna hurt you, you know that. I could never hurt you; you're my princess." He kept his voice calm and quiet. "I've got you. Let it go. You don't have to run anywhere. C'mere, sweetheart. Relax."

As he spoke he slowly reached out and gathered her into his arms. He felt her petite form tense briefly, adrenaline still coursing through her, and wondered if she would run away. Then abruptly she collapsed against him, the tension visibly ebbing away from her body; Mac's hands tenderly caressed her, soothing away the last of the nightmare.

After a while she finally looked up, blinking sleepily. "What's the matter, Unc? Why are you up so late tonight?"

"You woke me, Beck. I heard you screaming. What scared you?"

"I'm not quite sure," she murmured. Her expression became distant. "There was running...all I wanted to do was run, it seems. Then I faced something large, and black, and...and I think it showed me something terrifying. Then I was surrounded, and a lot of bad things were coming towards me...and then you woke me, I guess." She shook her head. "Jeez, what a dream. I haven't had anything this bad in years. Not since..." her voice faltered, then continued, "Not since the funeral. Why now, I wonder?"

"I think it's because the trial's coming up soon, and we have to leave for L.A. the day after tomorrow. We've had so much fun these past couple weeks together even I almost forgot the reason why we're here in the first place, at least until Pete called yesterday to check up on us." He started stroking her hair, and she relaxed a little more with his caress. "I know you're still scared, Becky, but you're also braver than you know. You can get through this. And I promise I'll be with you every step of the way."

"I know, Uncle Mac, and thanks. What I saw and the fact that somebody wants me dead because of it are more than enough to give me nightmares. Wonder what Mom and Dad would think of all this?" She smiled faintly. "But I feel better knowing you're here to protect me. You can go back to bed, if you want. I'll be fine."

"You sure?" She nodded and he got up from the bed. "Okay, but call if you need me. I'm in the room next to yours, you know." He bent down, kissing her cheek. "Sweet dreams, princess."

"You too, Unc. Good night," Becky replied. Mac turned off the light and closed the door behind him, hoping on the way back to his bed that she would be able to sleep.

* * * *

He was awakened some time later by a timid, but steady, knocking on the door. "Yeah, what is it?" he muttered.

"It's me, Unc. Can...can I come in?" In response to his half-awake affirmation she opened it, stepping cautiously inside.

 _Guess she couldn't get back to sleep after all._ He turned the bedside light on and propped himself up on an elbow, squinting at her sleep-tousled hair and the oversized, dark blue Phoenix t-shirt that that was her customary summer nightgown, now partially concealed by a pale blue blanket wrapped around her. The glasses, he noted, had been left behind in her room. "What's goin' on? Anything I can do for you?"

He sat up as Becky crossed over to a window. She peered down at the darkened beach and listened to the roaring surf for a long while until she finally spoke. "Did you know that the day I saw the hit was also the second anniversary of the car accident?"

He looked at her in surprise. "No, I didn't. Guess with everything that's been happening lately I clean forgot."

"That was when everything changed for both of us. I really miss them- Mom, Dad and Chris. I think about them every day."

"Yeah, so do I," he replied quietly. "I miss them too."

Becky glanced at him, then back outside. "So why did they have to die, Unc? What did I do wrong? I've spent these past two years trying to figure out what, but can't think of anything. It must've been my fault, because why else would I be left all alone?" Her soft, sweet voice quivered, cracking finally on the last question.

MacGyver ran a hand through his hair and sighed. _I've been askin' myself the same thing for years,_ he thought glumly. _First with Dad and Grandma Celia, then when Mom passed away, and now with Allison, Michael and Chris gone. After all this time I still don't have any answers, and because of that I can't help Becky find her own, no matter how much she needs them._

He had always considered himself a skeptic, but one thing he firmly believed in was the emotional bond he shared with her, ever since she was a baby. _I feel how much you're hurting right now, sweetheart- that way-too-familiar endless loop of guilt, self-blame, confusion and loneliness- and I'm sorry. Words aren't nearly enough to ease your pain, but they're the best I can offer you right now._

"It wasn't you, Becky. They didn't die because of you," he said finally. "You were with me down in L.A. when it happened. An accident, that's all it was. Their deaths aren't your fault in any way. You gotta believe me."

She spun to face him, chin raised defensively and anger in her eyes. "Spare me the platitudes, Unc," she snapped. "How can I honestly believe that when I'm here and they're gone? And you're hardly one to talk. Didn't you think it was your fault when Grandpa James and Great-Grandma Celia died? Or Grandma Ellen? They abandoned you, after all."

Mac stared at her in bewilderment, eyebrows raised. _Whoa, now. Where's this comin' from?_ "Well yeah, I did feel that way as a kid. Still kinda do, I guess. But--"

"And then there's your fear of commitment. I know about your past girlfriends, and you've met plenty of women who'd love to get to know you better. But I haven't seen you going out with any others since I moved in. Except for," she added bitterly, "what I now call the 'Deborah Incident'. And what about you and Nikki? I can see you guys are really attracted to each other, so why haven't you done something about it yet? What are you afraid of?"

"Hey, that's not fair. How the heck would I have known Deborah was hired to get close so she could kill me?" He winced inwardly at the still-painful memory of her deception. "You know Nikki and I fight all the time; how could you think there's anything goin' on between us? And as for me seeing anyone else, it's complicated. You gotta understand--"

She snorted. "You bet I do. Heck of a guilt complex you've got, huh? Makes you afraid to get close to anyone, including me sometimes. Always on the move, so that no one can touch you, or hurt you. You probably even think you'll be safer on your own, right? Well you're wrong, because it just makes you lonely. For crying out loud, Unc! Sometimes you're really dumb, you know that?"

"Becky, stop it! You got no idea what you're talkin' about." Her eyes widened and she involuntarily took a step back; Mac realized he had never yelled at her so forcefully before. He swallowed and took a deep breath, struggling to control his rising anger at her words. What she said hurt deeply, even more so because it was true. _It's like Harry once told me- only family can truly hit you below the belt._ "Hold on and think about what you're saying," he continued in a softer tone.

She blinked in confusion for a moment, then slumped against the windowsill, head in her hands. "Oh, jeez," she groaned. "I'm sorry, Uncle Mac. I didn't mean for it to come out that way. You know I've been thinking a lot about Mom lately."

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "Yeah."

"Once I asked her why you do what you do, and she told me about the car accident and Grandma Ellen's illness."

Despite his lingering resentment, he found himself curious. "Did she say anything else?"

"According to Mom you're still unconsciously trying to prevent that accident, even though you were way too young to really do anything when it happened. Not to mention trying to get back in time to say goodbye to your mom before she died. That's why you most likely have so few romantic relationships and a problem with commitment, with that fear of being abandoned. Even now with me around you get weird when you think you've had too close a brush with death, and look for ways to escape."

"She's probably right. So how come she told you?"

"Well, when I was eleven, I got teased so much at school I wanted to run away myself."

Mac nodded. "I remember you mentioning that at the surprise birthday party Pete threw for me, last year."

"That's when she told me, along with good advice about facing one's problems head on. She wanted me to understand, since I'm the same way. We don't like the idea of being left all alone, so you and I learned to be loners and self-reliant." Becky smiled faintly and shrugged. "Sounds weird, doesn't it? But it's true."

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Your mom always was pretty perceptive, even as a kid. She really understood people and their problems. That's what made her such a good psychologist."

"I know. She loved them so much but she loved you more, and knew you would make yourself suffer if left all alone."

"Like I said, pretty perceptive." He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes against the tears forming at the memory. _Darn it Allison, I miss you. You knew me better than anyone, even myself._

"Maybe that's why Mom and Dad added in the will that they wanted you to take care of me," she continued, "if I wasn't of legal age yet. They knew how badly we'd need each other. I guess it took me until this moment, though, to fully understand why they did that. And it's true, Unc," she shyly confessed, glancing at him as if unsure of his reaction. "I do need you."

MacGyver quietly watched her for a few moments, thinking of the baby he once held in his arms, the little girl he used to play with, the teenager standing in front of him with tears of her own glistening in the golden glow of the lamp. _Oh princess, you hurt so much over their loss, and then had to move in with me and adjust to my life. I'm sure you tried real hard to cope, but tonight you couldn't keep it in any more, could you?_ He instantly forgave her impudent outburst, the anger quickly draining out of him.

With a gentle smile he opened his arms. "It'll be okay, sweetheart. Come here."

She swallowed and moved towards him with hesitant steps, letting the blanket fall to the floor on the way. Tentatively she reached for his outstretched hands as she approached the bed and his long fingers linked with hers, pulling her up beside him. He touched her hair, playing lightly with the reddish-brown strands. _Looks like you knew both of us pretty well, Allie._

"I need you too, Beck," he finally admitted, kissing her forehead and enfolding her in a huge embrace. "I really do. Neither of us is alone, not so long as we've got each other. I think we both should remember that from now on." Soft hair brushed against his bare chest as she slowly nodded in agreement. He could feel the extent of her lingering grief- which was the real source of her anger- as deeply as he could his own and was very grateful they were able to share it through the bond, since it meant they could help heal each others' aching hearts and souls. Or so Mac fervently hoped.

After a while he felt her move away from him. "Where you goin'?"

"Back to my room."

He reached over and touched her arm. "You can stay if you want," he said softly.

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah." He lifted the sheet in invitation. "I won't let any more nightmares bother you tonight."

She smiled slightly. "You promise?"

"I guarantee it. But no more arguing. Deal?"

A faint blush tinted her cheeks. "Deal."

"Good. So get back here, already."

He turned the lamp off and leaned back against the pillows; she settled against him, reaching to kiss his cheek before tucking her head against his broad shoulder, her breath tickling his neck. He stroked her hair, whispering endearments until she slipped peacefully into slumber, but found himself unable to join her.

For a long time Mac laid wide awake in the darkness, thinking of their lost family. Tears rolled down his cheek onto the pillow, staining it with his grief. "Love you guys, wherever you are," he whispered to the remnants of their memory.

"Love you too, Unc," he heard Becky mumble in her sleep. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and settled her more comfortably against him.

MacGyver smiled sadly as his eyes closed, grateful for his niece's soothing, gentle presence when times got tough. He didn't know what he would do without her in his life, and silently prayed he would never have to find out.


	6. Regret and Running

Becky woke suddenly the next morning, taking in her surroundings with a sense of confusion. _This isn't my room. What happened?_ For a second she panicked, then relaxed as the memory of the night before came back to her.

Blinking sleepily, she lazily watched a ray of light reflecting off the outdoor window crawl slowly across the room and over the bed covers, eventually illuminating the features of the older man lying next to her.  _He_ _looks like such a little boy when he's asleep,_ she thought with a smile, fondly studying his profile as her eyes traced that nose, those lips quirked in sleep, the chin with its adorable cleft, the unruly hair. Impulsively she settled one hand lightly on his head, gently trailing fingers through the golden brown strands. _I love him so much, can't imagine what I'd do without him. He's everything to me now._

She frowned, remembering. Once the door had been closed behind him she sat up in the darkness for a long time afterwards, letting her thoughts drift until settling- inevitably- on her family. Finally the memory of their loss had become too much to bear alone and she fled to her one safe haven for comfort. In the clear light of late morning Becky recalled their conversation, particularly the hurt expression on his face when she had brought up the subject of his own underlying guilt and fear.

_I don't know why I did that. I must've been too keyed up by the nightmare to think before speaking as I usually do, and it just seemed to come out all at once. We've never really talked about his personal life until now; I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he resents me for broaching such a sensitive topic._

MacGyver stirred under her hand and awoke, stretching and wiping the sand from his eyes. He glanced at her and smiled. "Mornin', Beck. Sleep well?"

She sighed, shaking her head.

"Hey, now." He turned to face her. "What's the problem?"

"I was thinking about last night."

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. You know, the things I said. All that useless self-pity about being alone. The way I snapped at you for no reason. I apologize if I hurt your feelings, and for bringing up Deborah and Nikki. That was below the belt, and I shouldn't have done it. It's just that..." She let her voice trail off, then shrugged. "I guess what bothers me most is this guilt you feel, about things that are well beyond your control. What hurts you emotionally hurts me too, and it's frustrating when I can't do anything to ease your pain like I can for your more physical injuries. It's not fair for me to take it out on you the way I did, though."

To her further shame Becky felt hot tears trickle down her cheeks. "I told you several days ago I was scared, and I still am," she whispered. "I'm afraid for the future, and I don't know what would happen if I ever lost you. I love you more than anything and I'm so sorry. Forgive me, please?" She bit her lip, uncertain what to say further or whether she'd said too much, and felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Mac rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling; he was frowning, obviously considering her words and his response. _Of course he is_ , she thought glumly. _What with the terrible things I said last night, he's not likely to forget them any time soon. Wouldn't be surprised if he wound up not speaking to me for the rest of the day, not to mention during the trip back home._

Finally he sighed, rubbing a hand across his face, then turned again to face her. Long, capable fingers reached to gently caress her cheek, wiping away the tears, then drifting down to tilt up her chin. She met his intense dark gaze, filled with caring and a compassion she couldn't possibly deserve. "It's okay, Becky," he said softly. "Gotta admit what you said bothered me, but I understand why you said it. It's not just about the trial, is it? You've always been a sensitive kid, and so much has happened to you over the past couple years- most of it related to me- and it's been a lot to take in. No wonder you suddenly felt the need to get it off your chest."

She blinked in surprise. _Is that why I said those things? Guess he really does know me better than I know myself._ "So you forgive me?"

A fond smile lit his face. "You're my girl, aren't you? Of course I do." He added quietly, "I love you more than anyone, and I don't want to lose you either, not for anything. C'mere."

With a faint cry of relief she allowed his arms to close around her, resting her head against the warm bare skin of his chest. She inhaled his scent then exhaled softly, matching the slow rhythm of his breath. The ripple of each muscle movement and the steady beat of his heart soothed her, banishing the last of her doubts in the process. They rested together in silence for a long time, basking in the glow of their love for one another.

"Uncle Mac?"

"Hmmm?"

"Don't you think it's amazing that we're both basically solitary, independent people, yet we have this close connection? It's like what you told me on the way up here, about the left brain and right brain. We're two halves of a whole, or something like that."

He smirked. "Well, I've always known we're two of a kind," he drawled, smoothing his hand over her hair.

She chuckled. "And now that I think of it, the left brain controls the right side of the body, and the right controls the left. Am I correct?"

"So far."

"Then that means, since I'm left-handed and you're right-handed, out of the two of us I'm the only one..." She grinned as she paused for effect. "In their right mind."

Mac stared at her, puzzled, then finally groaned, rolling his eyes. "Oh, you."

"Yeah," Becky laughed. "Me." The pillow hit her with a solid smack in the back of her head; she produced her own weapon in retaliation. The impromptu fight lasted only a few minutes, blows being doled out on both sides. Finally she settled back on the bed beside him panting for breath, the tensions of the previous night completely forgotten. "Face it, we're both nuts."

"No doubt about it." He glanced at the clock. "Aw man, it's almost ten. I've never stayed in bed this late before- well, not without good reason, anyway. That's what I get for living with a night-owl, huh? Must be your bad influence." He tapped her playfully on the nose.

She giggled. "Must be, Unc."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "C'mon, it's time to get up. You go shower and change, and I'll make us somethin' to eat. It's our last day here, remember, and we gotta make sure the place is clean before leaving for L.A. in the morning."

* * * *

Dark clouds moved towards land at a frightening pace in the early evening, following the wind as it started churning the waves into ribbons of frothy white lace that broke apart as soon as they hit the shore. Seagulls, aware of the immanent arrival of a rare summer storm, turned and fled inland, their harsh cries mingling with the ocean's increasing roar.

As the first fat drops of rain hit her glasses, Becky pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt and breathed deeply of the humid, salt-laden air. _Sure, Southern California's coast is nice,_ she thought, _but it definitely doesn't hold a candle to the coast up here in Oregon._ _Nothing can compare to its beauty, especially during a storm._ She stood on the beach for a while, enjoying the stormy weather until the combined force of the rain and wind forced her to follow the gulls and flee inland for shelter.

Once inside, she hung the sweatshirt up to dry and relaxed on the living-room couch with a book. MacGyver had left an hour ago and wouldn't be back for at least another half-hour more; she remembered him saying something about getting the freshest salmon he could find for their final dinner before heading back to Los Angeles in the morning.

"Even if I have to go and catch it myself," he had added with a wink, making her laugh.

She suspected he wanted to do some other things as well, like checking in with Pete about road conditions and security arrangements back home. She nodded to herself at that thought, and trusted Mac to make sure that no one could possibly get at her on the way back home. Lulled by the sounds of the rain hitting the house and the crashing surf Becky eventually dozed off, slipping into a dream from long ago of a beautiful, petite princess living in a castle by the sea with her tall, handsome, brave knight...

The sound of breaking glass woke her hours later, followed by two eerily familiar voices. "C'mon, Ray. Hurry up. Now's the perfect time to grab her and finish the job, before that other guy comes back."

"Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses. Even with my metal hand, I still gotta be careful of all the glass, you know. We'll get the little pest soon enough."

Becky's eyes flew open. _Oh God, they're here. Mac's not back yet, and they're gonna kill me! What in the name of everything am I gonna do?_

She heard them working at the front door, trying to get it open. _Gotta hide someplace, gotta let Unc know what's happening._ Without even pausing to get her shoes on, she got up and as quietly as she could made her way through the darkened house. Feeling grateful the storm appeared to be over she slipped out the back door, hoping that somebody was in one of the neighboring houses so she could call the police.

* * * *

Copeland picked up a heavy book off the table and threw it across the room, where it knocked against a fragile sculpture, sending it crashing onto the bare wooden floor. "Where the hell is she? You said she was finally here alone, right? Said it'd be easy to get her this time, since that guy's not here to protect her. But the kid's not hiding anywhere in this place, dammit, so where did she get to?"

"Relax, man," his partner said smoothly. "She couldn't have gotten very far outside, not a kid like her. Especially without these." Seelsmith kicked at the tennis shoes and socks lying beside the couch. "C'mon, Steve. We'll find her outside, then do the job and toss her in the ocean for fish bait. The boss will like that little touch. Let's get a couple of flashlights and guns out of the car and go after her."

* * * *

Becky rested in the bushes to catch her breath, watching the two men exit the house and walk over to their car, a gray sedan. Every house on the block was locked and empty, and MacGyver _still_ had not yet returned. She was at a loss as to her next move. _Speaking of whom_ _,_ she thought hopelessly, _dear god,_ _if I even have the tiniest bit of Unc's talent please let it show itself now!_

Her glance strayed back to the beach house, then to the side gate leading to the backyard. She remembered there was a tool shed in one corner, leaning against the back fence- and the beach was on the other side of that fence. If she could get past the gate and to the shed without being seen, then maybe she could find something in there that might help her out of her predicament.

_Maybe._

Becky regarded the two men, illuminated by the streetlights; they were reaching in the trunk of their car, pulling out a pair of heavy-duty shotguns. _God, they're serious about killing me. They trashed the house, and now they're gonna hunt me down like an animal. Whatever did I do to get them so ticked off at me, besides seeing them kill somebody? Or maybe that's more than enough of a reason as it is._

She risked a look at the shed, then back to the assassins. They were still busy with getting the guns ready; it was as good a time as any to make a run for it. As quietly as she could, the teenager sped out of the bushes, unlatched the gate and passed through, then latched it again. She ran through the backyard for the shed, bare feet hurting from the impact. _Jeez, it's just like in that nightmare, running away without any shoes on._

Fortunately, the shed wasn't locked, and she slipped inside without much trouble. Deciding the risk was worth it, Becky turned the light on for a few moments, long enough to get an idea of what she might be able to use. However, no inspiration was forthcoming. She wondered how in the world did her uncle get his ideas just by looking around at stuff; nobody could ever figure out exactly how his mind worked, not even Mom. _So what would you do, Uncle Mac?_

Then she saw a tool box sitting by the door; written on its top were the words, "Emergency Storm Kit." She flipped the top open, revealing candles, a flashlight, flares, a lighter, and parts of a first aid kit. Inspiration finally hit; Becky grabbed the flares, the lighter, the flashlight, and a roll of white bandage tape, then snapped the light off and closed the door.

As Becky concealed herself within the darkest shadows by the shed, the hitmen entered the backyard through the gate, their guns drawn. While Copeland searched the other end, Seelsmith went over to the shed and peered inside; his metal claw briefly reflected the house's outside light as he pulled away and she shivered, recalling the worst of her nightmares. Any moment, she was sure, it was about to reach right into the shadows and grab her.

She quietly sighed in relief when he turned back to his partner instead. "She ain't here," he growled. "Maybe she's out on the street, tryin' to find somebody to help her- not that she'll have much luck. C'mon." They swiftly left the yard.

Becky also moved quickly, out of the shadows then over to the fence. She tore off pieces of the white tape and stuck them on the weathered wood, hoping that Mac would get the general idea of the message. _I'm definitely not good at improvising stuff like he is, but this is the best I can come up with right now. Seems like I at least got a little of his talent, anyway._

Satisfied with her handiwork, she then bound the flares and lighter together with some more tape, tossed the bundle over the fence then pulled herself up. As she balanced briefly on top she glanced down, swallowing nervously at the distance. The house was situated on a short cliff, which was just high enough above the sand below to cause her to question the sanity of what she was about to do. Unfortunately the actual beach access was further down the street, and she knew there was no other way to get down and away without attracting the assassins' attention.

Becky hated heights, and always had since a playground accident that broke her arm when she was a kid. It was somewhat gratifying that Mac felt much the same way about them. _At least we have something in common. Maybe it runs in the family,_ she thought wryly. _But if he can handle heights despite his own fear, then so can you. So get a grip, girl, and get going!_

Taking a deep breath she let go of the fence, landing on the sand harder than expected and rolling with the impact; a large log of driftwood abruptly stopped her forward motion and there was a brief feeling of pain as she knocked her head. Panting for breath, she rose on shaky legs then grabbed for the bundle with one hand while holding on to her throbbing head with the other. She sprinted across the beach under the faint light offered by the waning moon, in the direction of the tall cliff that formed the cove's northern boundary.

Her feet were hurt and bleeding from the sharp rocks by the time she reached her destination, but she gritted her teeth and kept on going. Knowing the hitmen would be following, she hurried inside the larger of the sea-carved caves at the bottom of the cliff, only turning on the flashlight once she reached the pitch-black interior of the main cavern. She finally stopped by a dark pool, its water fed by the ocean through a hidden hole, ebbing and flowing with the tides.

They had first discovered it a few days earlier while exploring; Becky remembered she had thought of it as a wishing well, tossed in a penny, then told Mac her wish for having someone to love had come true through him. In return, he smiled and tossed in his own coin, later noting that by an amazing coincidence he had made a similar wish, which had already been filled in turn when she was born.

She hoped that the pool's "magic" would somehow be enough to keep her safe from the hitmen, but she knew it wasn't likely. Nevertheless, she dug a coin out of her jeans pocket and made a silent wish, tossing it into the water. _I sure hope this isn't my last stand._ _Oh Uncle Mac, please come save me soon. I'm so scared. I don't want to die like this, and leave you all alone._

Presently footsteps echoed through the cave, and two flashlight beams shone into the cavern and reflected off the pool, which was growing steadily as the tide came in. Becky set her mouth in a thin line as she turned and faced her pursuers, holding a flare in one hand and a lighter in another. "Don't come another step," she told them, raising her soft voice to be heard above the sound of the water. "Or I swear to you I'll light this and bring the entire cliff down upon us. I'll do it, I'm warning you."

The hitmen looked at each other, trading nasty grins. "You can't fool us, kid," said Copeland. "That's not dynamite. It's just a flare. Now put that down and come here like a good girl, so we can finish our job." They advanced towards her, cocking their guns and aiming at her.

"Okay," said Becky. "You asked for it." She lit the flare and tossed it at Copeland, who involuntarily stepped back. The flare rolled on the ground, sputtering ineffectually, then dropped in the water and died out.

Seelsmith shook his head. "Sorry, kiddo. Nice try, but too late." He aimed his weapon once more. Becky closed her eyes, preparing for the worst.


	7. To the Rescue

_Of all the times to get a flat tire, and **of course** it has to be this afternoon with no spares in the trunk,_ MacGyver thought with a rueful glance in the rear view mirror at the rental car's back right tire. There was fresh fish spoiling in the back seat, and a very hungry niece waiting for her special dinner. He hoped that the makeshift patch made of duct tape, sand and a stick of chewing gum found in his jacket pocket would hold up long enough to get him safely to the nearest gas station- which was still at least five miles away- before it closed for the night.

Several hours later he finally pulled into the driveway, wondering if Becky would forgive him for being so late. He got the groceries out of the back seat, and walked to the front door. He reached for the key then practically dropped everything when he saw the broken glass and damaged locks. _Oh, no. Somebody got to Becky. I'll never forgive myself for believing she was safe enough alone here- how could I forget somebody wants her dead, even for a moment?_

Mac set the bags down and went inside, cautiously. He turned on a few lights and gasped at the extent of the damage. "Oh, man. Becky? Where are you, honey? You okay?"

The only reply was a faint but clear cry from outside, and then the sound of two people running past the side of the house. When he reached the back door, he saw in the outside light two men run through the backyard and climb over the fence. Mac ran outside to follow them, but stopped abruptly at the fence, noticing the message created rather crudely in white tape: an arrow pointed roughly towards the southwest, with a "B" beside it. _For Becky, of course. But what does the arrow mean?_ Then he remembered the caves, which were more or less in the direction she had pointed out. _That must be where she's headed_.

He dashed quickly inside the house again, to call the police and get a flashlight. _Good job, sweetheart,_ Mac thought a short while later as he climbed the fence and ran after the hitmen. _That talent or whatever it is I got must run in the family. At least it helped you to get away from those two guys long enough to make that message. Hopefully I can get to you before they do._

It took a while for MacGyver's eyes to adjust to the darkness upon entering the cave, but the sound of three voices unerringly led him to the main cavern. He stopped just before the entrance; from his hidden vantage point he watched with a faint sense of pride as Becky attempted to bluff the assassins with nothing more than flares and a lighter. _Guess she's learnin' something from me, after all._

When Seelsmith aimed his gun at her- threatening the life of the one person he loved most in the world- Mac knew it was time to act. He charged ahead, hoping to jump at them from behind; Seelsmith stepped out of the way but he succeeded in grabbing Copeland, managing to wrestle the gun away before dragging him into the water.

"Where the hell did you come from?" Seelsmith swung his weapon around in the direction of the pool. Even while Mac was occupied with Copeland, out the corner of his eye he saw Becky grab at a nearby rock and desperately throw it, obviously intending to- at the very least- distract the hitman before he could shoot. It struck Seelsmith squarely on the head and he crumpled, a pool of blood slowly spreading on the ground underneath.

Mac returned his attention back to his opponent, ducking a particularly vicious blow from Copeland then managing to knock him out with a well-placed fist. _Metal teeth, but a glass jaw. Who would've thought?_

"Ouch," he muttered as he hauled the body out of the water. "Why the heck do I do that when my hand hurts so darn much afterwards?" Taking deep breaths, he turned towards the teenager who was staring at him wide-eyed, mouth agape. "Hey, Becky."

She scrambled to pick up the discarded flashlight and turn the beam on him, gasping in surprise as it revealed familiar rugged features, deep brown eyes, and dripping longish brown hair. "Uncle Mac! How did you get here?"

"Well, thanks to your message I was able to figure out where you were goin' and follow these guys," he replied, forgetting his damp state as he wrapped his arms around her. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I am. But--" She gulped, glancing at Seelsmith; the metal claw that he knew had haunted her dreams the past two weeks hung limply at his side. "I got him with the rock, but I'm not sure if he's alive or dead." She bit her lip. "I know he was awful- I mean, he was gonna kill you, I think. But what if I killed him? What have I done?"

Mac looked down at his niece fondly. She was so gentle and compassionate, worrying about anyone who was hurt, even if they had just threatened her life. He hoped she would never change.

He went over to Seelsmith, checking the assassin's pulse. "Don't worry about it. He's still alive. Just knocked out cold, that's all." He returned to Becky's side, gently cupping her cheek. "C'mon, let's get back to the house. The police should be here by now and they'll take care of these guys. Then later today we'll start heading back home to L.A., okay? Don't know about you but I could sure use breakfast and a nap before we leave."

"Sure Unc, that sounds great." He led her out of the cave, directing the approaching officers towards the unconscious men inside.

A splash of salt water hit Becky's feet and she pulled away from his hand, wincing. "You hurt your feet while running?"

She nodded. "Just like in that nightmare. It really stings."

He pulled her close, lips brushing her forehead. "Sorry about that, sweetheart. But your nightmare's over now. No more running. We'll have the paramedics take a look at your feet once we get back to the house. Your head, too," he added, nodding at the blood matting the hair on the side of her head. "Did they hit you?"

"Hurt it while jumping off the back fence. Longer way down than I thought it would be." She grimaced. "I hate heights."

MacGyver chuckled. "Runs in the family, huh? You were very brave tonight, Becky. I'm proud of you." Then he grinned. "Busy night for you, wasn't it? Came up with a message for me while getting away from these guys, defended yourself, and saved my life. Nice throw, by the way."

She managed a wry grin. "Not exactly what I was expecting for our last night here, I have to admit. But you came and rescued me just in the nick of time, Unc. Thanks."

"Hey, it's the least I could do for my princess. So now, Your Highness, would you please allow this humble knight to convey you swiftly and safely away from this treacherous terrain?" Mac's eyes twinkled in amusement as he made a slight bow and Becky nodded her assent, giggling. He knelt to scoop her up into his arms, hearing her soft sigh as she leaned her head against his broad shoulder and closed her eyes, resting securely in his embrace. He carried her all the way back to the beach house in the faint gray light of early morning, feeling grateful that they were both once again out of harm's way.


	8. To Tell the Truth

Pete looked up from his seat outside the courtroom two days later and noticed three people approaching him: Agent Frye in his usual dark suit, MacGyver for once also wearing a suit and tie for the occasion, and Becky in a skirt and blouse, stepping gingerly due to her injured feet. The latter still looked shaken after her ordeal, but otherwise quite resolute in going through with her testimony. _Yeah,_ he thought to himself, _she's definitely related to Mac. You can't mistake that resiliency and determination for anything else._

He stood up. "You okay, Mac? Heard there was some trouble up north."

"Nothing we couldn't handle, Pete. We're fine." He shrugged. "Can't say the same for Seelsmith and Copeland, though."

Pete chuckled. "Yeah. I heard you throw a mean curveball, Becky." Mac grinned and even Frye cracked a smile as she blushed. "Are you ready? The federal prosecutor will call you to the stand soon to testify."

She nodded. "I am. I know I'm doing the right thing, making sure that justice is done for Mr. Farrelli's family, not to mention everyone who has been hurt by Tarantino and those hitmen."

He smiled encouragingly, patting her on the shoulder. "Good for you. I'm proud of you, and so is everyone else at the Foundation. You're doing a brave thing today. Let's go in."

"Just a second, Pete," Mac said. "I'd like to talk to Becky for a couple minutes."

He looked at Frye, who nodded. "Sure." The agent entered the courtroom and Pete waited just outside the doors, watching the teenager and the troubleshooter move closer together for their private conversation. They had both come a long way in the past two years since that fateful phone call and he was glad they had each other. _They make a good pair_ , he thought. _They really do._

He saw MacGyver turn and clasp her smaller hands in his larger ones, saying softly, "Becky, I just want you to know something before we go in there. I'm proud of you."

She blinked. "You are?"

"Yeah. In fact every day I am, for being the kind, sweet and caring girl you are now to the amazing woman I'm sure you'll soon become. But I gotta admit I've never been more impressed or proud of you than right at this moment, for standin' up to Tarantino and those hitmen and testifying against them. I think your folks would be, too."

She blushed slightly and ducked her head. "Aw c'mon, Unc. You really mean all that?"

"You bet I do. Like I've told you before, you're braver than you know. You're growing up so fast now, it's hard to believe that it was only two years ago I became your guardian. I know it hasn't been the most steady home life for you, what with all the crazy stuff I seem to get caught up in. But we're doin' okay, right?"

Becky nodded. "Of course we are. Even in spite of- as you said- all the crazy things that happen to you, I honestly can't imagine living anywhere else. Not even in a foster home." Pete saw the corner of her mouth turn up in a wry smile. "Hey, you're my legal guardian, after all. We're stuck with each other for the long haul. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Glad to hear it." Mac paused, swallowing almost nervously. "Because I don't think I've ever told you before how important and special you really are to me. With you in my life I have stability, something to come home to every night. It keeps me balanced, whole. Know what I mean? You're the reason I go out and do my best to make the world a better place; I want to make sure all your wishes and dreams come true."

He released one hand to trail long fingers along the soft skin of her face, then lightly touch her hair. "And you know somethin' else? No matter whatever problems either one of us has to face in the future, we'll do it together. We may not fit the normal definition of family anymore, but that's what the word really means, I think- being there for each other so neither of us is left all alone. The past two years- not to mention the last two weeks- have shown me that." He bent down, kissing her gently on the cheek. "I love you, sweetheart. Always have, always will."

Becky looked up at him, eyes filling with tears as she returned the kiss, reaching carefully up on her tiptoes as he bent down to meet her halfway; Pete found his own misting at the sincerity in his voice and the almost palpable depth of their shared feelings for one another. "I love you too," she said softly in reply, "always." Then the corner of her mouth turned up in a wry smile. "Especially when you're wearing that suit and tie. You look so handsome today. You should wear suits more often."

"Oh c'mon Beck, not you too?" MacGyver mock-groaned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You're just as bad as your mom was about what I wear. I mean, it's all right by me if you take care of things at home, but if you're gonna start on about my choice of clothing, we gotta have a long talk."

She laughed as they turned and headed for the courtroom. "I'm counting on it, Unc!" They grinned at each other and Pete opened the doors for them with a smile of his own as the three stepped inside. His friend was right- no matter what might happen in the future, good or bad, Mac and Becky would always be there for each other.

\--The End--


End file.
